of starry nights
by Acacia Thorn
Summary: He will not sink down to her level. NancyAres.


**Author's Notes:** *has had this plot bunny for around five months now*

Anyways. This was written for Theia 47's Picture Challenge thingamabob; picture two, because I could. (Or in other words, I tried to input picture five and failed miserably -.-)

* * *

of starry nights

**(** _and not-so-romantics _**)**

by Acacia Thorn

* * *

There's a blonde inside that store, he notices as he strides past, eyes darting towards the decorated glass window with careful precision. She's pretty, he deduces, with flouncy hair and big blue eyes that anyone could see from a mile away. It might be worth talking to her. Besides, he's got time; Aphrodite could wait a little bit.

He walks in with confidence, and he only stumbles slightly when he realizes that this is a bookstore and the girl probably isn't the dumb blonde he thought she would be.

"Hello," says the blonde, brushing some hair back from her face and barely looking up from the books she is organizing. "May I help you?"

She looks up after asking, and suddenly the dull, washed blue of her eyes turns into a sparkling cerulean. He nearly laughs—_nearly_.

"Um, hi," she says again, though her voice isn't as stiff as before. He thinks that this woman is probably twenty, give or take a few years. "Um, I'm Mary…Thompson. Mary Thompson. Yeah, that's me." Her cheeks flush a flowery pink after this statement, and she lowers her eyes to the ground, chuckling nervously.

He smirks. She'll be easy—a little smooth talking, maybe something sort-of romantic if she's not convinced, and then she'll be all over him. Hell, she probably wants to jump him right now. He bites back another laugh.

"Uh, how can I…help you?" she asks quietly, managing to look him in the eye.

He opens his mouth to retort—to say something sweet and sour and have her charmed to Hades and back.

"Well—" Suddenly there's a flash of red, and two eyes—brown; almond-shaped—have locked with his. She's wearing the casual uniform of a blue t-shirt and jeans, identical to Mary's outfit, so he figures that she works here as well.

"Do you need something?" she asks, sounding snobbish and spiteful. Her hair, which is limp and bright red, is set about in a type of messy disarray that vaguely resembles a ponytail. Her nose is slightly upturned, and there's an ugly smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

All in all, he's rather irritated with her presence.

"No, now leave before I—"

"Oh, shut up. Mary's shift is over. I can help you with whatever you need." She looks positively repulsed at the thought of this, and his lips twitch into a smirk.

"No, no, that's okay, Nancy," squeaks Mary, elbowing her co-worker in the ribs. "I can take one more customer…"

"No, it's fine," he says flippantly, grinning at the two girls and turning on his heel. "I've got a date soon anyways."

He brushes out of the store with ease, leaving two somewhat shocked girls behind him.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

The next time he walks past that same bookstore, it is sunny, hot, and not a soul is in sight, for they are probably indoors, trying desperately to cling to the coldness of air conditioning.

He turns at the sounds of noises—yelling, it seems, and various curse words. He catches fragmented pieces of the argument, the most memorable one being, "You filthy cheating _bastard_!"

He turns just in time to see that mortal woman, the redhead from the bookstore, punch a guy square in the jaw. Her eyes are rimmed with tears, but her expression is nothing short of absolute rage.

"I hate you!" she yells at the man, who is now writhing in pain on the ground. She makes it a point to step on his stomach. "I hate you! You—you _asshole_." She spits out the last part, voice breaking with the effort of containing her tears.

He thinks that the scene is rather pathetic, all in all, and he feels bad for the boy lying on the sidewalk, bruised and a little bit bloody, for having to deal with such a melodramatic girl.

He tells her this as she brushes by him, and she stops.

It doesn't hurt when she punches him in the stomach, still not crying, but he can't help but be a little bit shocked. Did she really just punch him?

He doesn't feel like going after her, making her pay for that, because really, she's the first mortal that ever dared to challenge him with that much hate and conviction, and somewhere in his mind he marks that as significant. Plus, the mere thought of the impending war that could occur between him and the mortal girl makes him bristle with excitement.

To be honest, he rather likes the feeling.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

A plan has been formed. It's simple and reckless but it's also sick and twisted and really not like him.

He'll charm her, break her heart, and then he'll have his mini-war of glares and crude remarks.

He doesn't admit that he's really only making such efforts because Aphrodite is mad at him and a soppy love story will probably keep her from doing something drastic, no matter who's involved in it, and so he begins.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

He goes to the bookstore one more time, and the redhead is there. She's looking particularly appealing today, with her hair somewhat neat and her eyes framed with nicely-done makeup. Her freckles are still outlandish and ugly, though, so it sort of balances out.

He walks up to the counter, and words are already flying out of his mouth, smooth and seductive. Somewhere in the mix, he learns that her name is Nancy and he asks her out on a date—nothing big, nothing small. He watches, thinking that _of course_ she'll say yes, as she struggles to look indecisive.

"Um, sure," she says finally, eyebrows pulling together.

"Tonight, at seven," he tells her airily. It isn't a question.

"I'm busy at seven," she protests, anger sparkling in her eyes. It's obvious that she's not, but she seems to like arguing for the hell of it. Truth be told, he does too.

"Cancel it." His tone is flippant, casual; it seems to enrage her further. "It can't be more important."

"Well, actually, it is, and if you can't reschedule, then we don't have to go."

He raises his eyebrows and drinks in her defiant posture. After some time, he speaks.

"Right. I'll see you at seven. Wear something pretty, and try to put on some makeup, all right? The natural look doesn't suit you." He says it because he wants to make her mad, but some terrified part of him insists that Aphrodite is having an effect on him.

He turns and walks away, pausing to give her a toothy grin.

Her expression is absolutely livid, but he can see a little bit of bemusement present.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

As it turns out, the Nancy girl does _not_ listen to him. They're in front of the bookstore, of course, because he doesn't want her to be freaked out by the fact that he's a god, and yeah, he _does_ know where she lives. She's dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting t-shirt, her face bare and natural and sort-of pretty but really _not_.

To put it simply, it pisses him off, because yes, he is special enough to dress up for, and Nancy does not seem to realize that.

She barely smiles when he arrives in a sports car that's way too cool for her, and all she says is, "Your name's James, right?"

"Yes," he says gruffly, trying his best not to glare at her because he refuses to sink down to her level. "James Ares…Jackson. James Jackson."

She gives him a weird look and her nose scrunches up. "Ares? What kind of a middle name is that?"

"My parents are real history nerds," he says dismissively, using the age-old excuse and wondering why he even mentioned his real name in the first place.

"Whatever," she drawls. "So, where are you taking me?"

"Some restaurant." He shrugs, knowing that it's the truth. He had picked some random mortal restaurant that wasn't too cheap and made reservations, simple as that.

"That's so cliché," she whines, but goes along with him and his fancy sports car anyways.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

After the endless dinner, he thinks that it wasn't so awful. Nancy isn't that much of a bad character, though she still infuriates him with her simple defiance.

When they had first walked in, they had been told that they'd have to wait an hour. Nancy did not take kindly to this, and after various threats, insults, and a dazzling display of sharp wit, they got in without having to wait more than ten minutes. He admired her attitude, but he didn't mention it.

At the table, she had ordered a meal that was almost the same size as his portion, and after he made a short remark on her unsightly figure, she only shrugged and threw her fork at him, saying earnestly that she did not give a damn. He had smirked and didn't bring up the subject again.

When he caught her with her hand in some woman's purse, she did not blush or look away from him. She only withdrew her hand, carefully nursing a stack of money, and mentioned that she was a kleptomaniac and this is what she does, understand? He had nodded and said that it was fine and that he didn't really care.

After the dinner, she had thanked him in a way that was rude but polite, and somehow he agreed to a second date. She laughed and told him, "This was fun and all, really, but next time, try not to be such a sap, all right? I hate this movie-style crap." He nodded, not fully understanding what that meant.

Snapping back to the present time, he realizes one thing: Nancy's sudden likeability may not matter, but he does have another date with her, and it's going to be heaven and hell smashed together, whether he likes it or not.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

"You're kidding me, right?" she demands, choking on a little bit of laughter.

"What?"

"James—_fireworks_? Really? A starry night and fireworks…it's kind of pathetic, that's all."

"So do you want to stay or not?"

"No, no, I'll stay." She takes a deep breath, her cheeks flushed with the effort of restraining her mirth. "I just hoped you'd be a bit more creative…"

"Well, I wasn't," he snaps irritably, pausing to glare at her, because there's no winning with this girl and yes, he has sunk down to her filthy level. "So sit back and enjoy."

She waves a hand at him airily. "Oh, shut up. You're so hormonal, you know that?"

He blinks. _"What?"_

She laughs for real now. "Never mind."

He doesn't bother trying to press the matter, and eventually they fall into a simple rhythm of not-so-awkward small talk and exchanging favorites and old, corny jokes (even though she tells most of them).

In the end, he learns that she really hates romance and that her favorite color is blue, not red like everyone always assumes. Another date is scheduled somewhere amongst the conversation.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

"Coffee shops are really cliché, too," she tells him earnestly, sipping at a cappuccino. "But it's better than nothing, I guess…"

He nods shortly, and silence covers them, only broken by her noisy slurping and the incessant noise of other customers.

Finally, she looks up at him and says, "You know, we haven't kissed yet."

He stirs his coffee uninterestedly. "So?"

"Um, this is our third date."

"And?" He looks up at her and smirks. "I thought you hated romance."

"I do," she says, looking out the window and shrugging.

"So what's the problem?"

She's glaring at him now, and before he knows what's happening, she mumbles an angry, "Fuck you, James," and kisses him on the mouth.

It's not perfect, because he's kissed Aphrodite and there's nothing more perfect than that. Her lips are kind of wet against his and their teeth clash horribly. She pulls back, seeming satisfied, and says, "There. Was that so bad?"

He wipes her spit off on his sleeve. "Yes, actually."

Nancy rolls her eyes. "At least we got it over with." She sips at her drink. "Are you going to try and have sex with me now?"

He's taken aback. "No…why?"

"Because usually guys like you like to get into a girl's pants, and then go on and dump them."

He ignores her accusation. "Wait…so you _want_ me to do that?"

"No, but it's going to happen eventually."

He sighs and shakes his head. "You're unbelievable, did you know?"

She smirks in a way that's eerily familiar. "Oh, I know." Then, he realizes that it's the same grin he used on her when they met at the bookstore. "By the way, you still need to take me out on a fourth date, and if you get it right, you can have your sex, okay?"

"I don't want to have sex with you."

"Oh, so now you're calling me ugly?"

"Maybe I am."

"Bastard."

"I never said I wasn't."

She sighs, obviously exasperated with this behavior. "You're a downright ass, you know?"

He shrugs nonchalantly and sips her drink because his is as disgusting as Apollo's poetry. "I try. You still up for a fourth date?"

She looks irritated as she snatches her cappuccino back, but he catches the faintest trace of a smile on her lips and takes it as a yes.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

Their fourth date—although poorly planned—goes somewhat well. She tells him that no, it isn't perfect, but it's good enough, and he's left wondering how a local pond that's polluted to Hades and back is good.

Still, he likes the way the sunset makes her hair look like fire, and he doesn't like the way it makes her freckles look like fire, too.

"I hate the water," she informs him, sitting on the railing that borders the pond. "But this is kind of nice."

He comes up next to her. "How is this nice?"

She smiles and closes her eyes. "Because it's not too hot, not too cold, there's a sunset, and I'm with a guy that's annoying as hell."

"I don't get it."

She turns and smirks at him. "Of course you wouldn't." Silence ensues. "Sit with me."

He climbs onto the railing and sits next to her.

She leans closer, as if about to kiss him again, but before he can make up some pathetic excuse to get out of it, she pushes him off the railing and into the water, laughing.

"What was that for?" he shouts, angry and maybe a little bit amused.

"Just 'cause," she says, grinning stupidly. "By the way, I'm in charge of the next date, yeah?" She jumps back onto the sidewalk. "Meet me at the bookstore on Friday!" she calls, walking away.

Sputtering with rage and humiliation, he doesn't bother trying to reply, but he knows he'll show up at the bookstore anyways, just _because_.

Somewhere in this mess, his plan of war and jealousy is thrown out the window, forgotten.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

"Hey," she greets him bouncily, her hair down loose for once and her brown eyes warm and sparkling. The city lights play on the red of her hair, and she's seated on the curb of the sidewalk. "You're early."

"Is that a bad thing?" he asks, pulling her up with one arm.

She just smiles and shakes her head, like she knows something he doesn't. He _hates_ that smile, he really does.

"Never mind. Just take me to your car."

* * *

After a long hour of shouting and laughing and wrong directions, they arrive at an apartment complex. He raises his eyebrows. "What's this?"

"This," she says dramatically, "is my house." Then she frowns. "Or at least, where my apartment is. Whatever. C'mon, let me show you what a _real_ date is."

He tries his best not to gulp, because he's the war god and he is _never_ nervous about anything. "Right."

* * *

A couple of movies, popcorn, junk food, and snuggling—that's her idea of a perfect date, and it almost makes him want to laugh, because this is the girl that said she _hated_ cliché movie-scenes.

Plus, snuggling isn't really _snuggling_ for them. It's more like Nancy trying to rest her head on his shoulder, and him trying to put his arm around her, before they both decide that the position is too uncomfortable and go back to sitting on opposite ends of the couch.

"This is getting boring," he whispers to her as one of the more melodramatic scenes plays.

She grins wickedly. "Kind of stupid, then. I'm only putting up with it because I thought _you_ wanted to watch the movie."

He rolls his eyes. "Is this _all_ you wanted to do?"

"No." She eyes him warily. "I was also planning on this." She leans over, and very carefully places her lips on his.

He remembers thinking that she must've been practicing or something, because she's a much better kisser _now_ than she was back at the coffee shop. His hands snake around her waist, dragging her closer, and in a blur of passion and heat and awkward groping, he finds himself lost in a sea of sheets and whispers and tangled lies.

* * *

-‡-

* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, his head hurts like crazy and it takes some time to find his clothes. She's not in the bed, and he can smell something being cooked from the kitchen.

"Hi," she says lamely, turning a little bit pink upon seeing him. "Want some?" She offers him a plate of bacon and eggs, which he refuses smoothly.

She leans against the counter and stares at him for a moment, before saying, "So, you're going to leave now, right?"

He blinks. "Sort of…why?"

She laughs, but it isn't carefree and mocking like he's used to. Her laugh is bitter. "I told you already—that's what guys like you _do_. Have sex and then run away."

Somehow, hearing her say it makes it more real. _We had sex_. Sure, it's nothing new for him, but he hadn't been expecting to do it with _her_. She was supposed to be a part of his plan. She wasn't supposed to make him _want_ to be with her, if only for a little while.

"Look…I'm not leaving…because of that," he tries to explain, but she cuts him off with a wave of her spatula.

"Save it, James. I understand, really, I do. It wasn't like I was in _love_ with you or something. You were just a fling, or something like that." She shrugs.

"Nancy…" He sighs. "Yeah. Something like that. But you'll see me again, whether you like it or not."

She tilts her head to the side. "Oh?"

"I'll explain later."

* * *

-‡-

* * *

After half an hour, in which she (unsuccessfully) tried to get him to tell her what he meant, she kisses him on the cheek—a gesture that's incredibly unlike her—and promptly kicks him out of her apartment.

He can still hear her voice ringing in his ears.

"_This is the end, huh, James?"_

She didn't have a clue.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So … yeah. That turned out worse than I expected, but it wasn't horrifyingly gross, right? Um, _right_. I think.


End file.
